


Toxic Patrons and Tainted Gifts

by lost_in_dark_places



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Caleb's Towering Mountain of Issues VS. Fjord's Growing Pile of Issues, Character Study, FIGHT!, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 02:47:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17378147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_in_dark_places/pseuds/lost_in_dark_places
Summary: Caleb doesn't (shouldn't) care about these people, and watching Fjord court Uk'otoa shouldn't bother him in the least, and yet. . .





	Toxic Patrons and Tainted Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> When Liam said that Caleb immediately felt awful about making that blood pact with Fjord the wheels and cogs in my head started spinning, and this is what they eventually spit out.
> 
> Could be read as happening directly after Dashilla or after whatever happens tonight (It IS Thursday yet!) chronology is vague on purpose.

Back on the ship everyone goes their separate ways, some seeking comfort with each other. Caleb should be checking in with Nott, all of this water is not. . .good for her, and yet. He finds himself hovering near the Captain’s Quarters.

“Do you have something on your mind, Caleb?” Fjord says, suddenly, apparently done with his, ah, his Captaining.

“I—perhaps, I would like a private word, if you don’t mind.” Caleb says, very much despite himself. He has other matters to attend to. This is. . .distraction at best. Folly.

Fjord gives him one of those deep considering looks that Caleb suspects is far shallower, or at least lest discerning, than they appear. “Yeah, alright then, come on.” Fjord says briskly and bangs his way into the Quarters. Caleb drifts in behind, a bit of (foul smelling, Jester would say) flotsam in his wake.

Fjord goes to Av-well, Fjord’s now, Fjord’s desk, and uncorks a bottle of something, clicking his tongue as it occurs to him that he needs glasses. He starts rifling around for a pair. Caleb allows all of this: though he doesn’t want a drink, he wants to speak less. He finds a chair, fidgets with the ragged edges of his coat.

Fjord is humming a cheerful tune under his breath as he searches down and fills a pair of tin cups that were hidden in the desk, as if what happened under the waves was not as. . .disturbing for him as it had been for the others. Perhaps it had not been. This god-thing was his Patron, after all. Caleb has had some experience with toxic Patrons, if less divine ones. In the end that’s what brought him here, is it not?

Caleb shudders, clears his throat.

“Uh,” Fjord says, pulling Caleb out of the past, offering a cup, “Forgive me, friend, but you seem a bit. . .Troubled.”

Caleb finds himself smiling at the _Monstrous_ understatement, “Well, Ja, I—“ He stops, unsure how to continue. He accepts and sips the wine to buy time. Fjord waits earnest expression plastered on his face. Caleb idly wonders if it is a mask. It could be. Fjord is a good liar.

 _(Trent would have made good use of him)_ Caleb could make good use of him. The wine sours on his tongue.

“I think we should talk.” Caleb says, at last.

“I hope you know, I’m always ready to listen to you, any of you, if you have concerns. . .” Fjord says immediately, perhaps belying the willingness to listen he hurries to impress.

“I—Not much concerns me. I—“ Caleb feels as though he’s banging around in the dark after words without so much as a fairy light, “I am a _Terrible_ Person,” he says striking on the truth, and Fjord shifts uncomfortably as all their companions do when Caleb speaks so, “I am. I am not qualified to judge another’s choices because I—“ he let’s out a breathless pained laugh, and shakes his head, “But, but as someone who has gone too far, and lived to regret—regret so much, I feel I must speak.” 

Caleb realizes that his been staring at the little flame in the ship’s lantern, and shifts his eyes away. Away to anything else: The grain of Av—Fjord’s desk, his own fingers twisting in his jacket sleeves. Certainly the lantern doesn’t smoke so much that he can smell it? _Nein_ , he imagines this.

“Well, you certainly have my attention.” Fjord says. What is that quality of voice that makes you want to trust him? _(Trent would love it, does Uk’otoa?)_

“Your Patron is. . .” Caleb loses his nerve again, always. He draws a deep breath and tries again: “I swore I would help you find what you are searching for, and I will, if that is what you want, but surely. . .” Caleb grits his teeth, “Surely, you have noticed that your Patron is not. . .Good.” Monstrous understatement is the theme of the day, it seems.

Fjord falters, looks almost abashed. Caleb draws another shaky breath.

“I have no doubt this thing is offering you many things, power, answers, purpose. . .” Caleb almost allows himself to trail off, pulls himself back on task, “And of course, these gifts bear a price. Perhaps you are willing to pay it, but the gifts too, are tainted. They will do harm, to people you don’t know at first. Or if you do know them, people you don’t care for,” Fjord flinches: perhaps hearing, as Caleb is, the snap of Avantika’s neck, “But eventually the rot will creep closer and then. . .”

_Fire._

“And then you will do the unforgivable, and there will be no one left to forgive you anyway.”

When Fjord stirs next, Caleb starts. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, right? Right.

“Caleb, I—I don’t know what to say.” Fjord says. Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Is he lying?

_(Trent would know)_

“Say that you will take us away from this place. That you will bring Jester home safe to her mother. That we can pursue safer leads to the information you seek than courting this. . .Thing.” Caleb bounces out of his chair on an excess of frustration, fingers sweeping through his hair. Why is he even here? What does he care? How will this help him do what he needs done?

Fjord rises with him, hands out placatingly, “Now, maybe it is time to leave off this for now—” Caleb snorts at that: _for now_ , indeed. “—And we should probably get Jes back to her Mama: after how we left things, she’s probably worried sick. Besides, I think I owe you something for the help you’ve given me this far. . .” He leaves that bit of bait hanging like an amateur.

Caleb is tempted to hate him. Caleb needs him. They have a pact, don’t they?

“Well, Ja, perhaps you do.” Caleb says by rote, like someone else is speaking for him. He feels sick. He sighs, “It has been a long day, and I think we both have things to think about.”

“Reckon that’s true.” Fjord says.

“I think I should retire for the night,” Caleb says, “Goodnight, Fjord.”

“Likewise.” Fjord says with a nod and Caleb turns to leave, then, “Caleb—“ 

Caleb pauses at the door, half-turns back.

“If I’m gonna help you with your problem, I’m gonna need to know what it is.”

Caleb’s fist clenches, feels hot, “Yes, well, not tonight.”

Fjord looks him over and nods, “Not tonight.” Then, “Rest well, Friend.”

Caleb mutters something in response—thanks, some pleasantry—as he stumbles back out on to the deck, head buzzing: _What are you doing? What is this?_ Neither the wind nor the waves hold any answers. Caleb smells bitter smoke, real this time. He looks down and sees the cuff of he jacket smoldering and snuffs it out with a curse.


End file.
